


Ghost of You

by Kellyscams



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Fluff and Angst, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sexual Content, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 16:10:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kellyscams/pseuds/Kellyscams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s bad today. The worst of these two weeks. He’s heavily sedated. Asleep and strapped to the bed after trying to attack the doctor sent in to check his vitals. Hurt two armed guards sent in with the doctor in the process. The guards will recover after some physical therapy. If not for the sedatives in his food, he’d have escaped. </p>
<p>Escaped. Steve sighs. Hates thinking of it that way. He’s a patient. Not a prisoner. Yet a prisoner all the same. </p>
<p>“Maybe it was too soon.” Steve says to Sam. “Maybe I should have just let him come to us.”</p>
<p>Sam shakes his head. “Couldn’t be helped, Steve. You know that. Hydra was after him. So was the CIA. Probably other governments. Stark’s intel said they were closing in.”</p>
<p>He’s right. Steve knows it. Between Tony and Fury, Steve knew he and Sam weren’t the only ones searching for him. It’s best that they got him before anyone else could, but this pain in his gut, the heart wrenching, breathless feeling is overwhelming. Sometimes he wishes he’d fallen from the train instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost of You

**Author's Note:**

> **trigger warning** this fic contains a sex scene with dubious consent which might make some people uncomfortable. 
> 
> So, this was a prompt requested on Tumblr to have a fic in which Steve and Bucky watch//listen to the music video for My Chemical Romance's _The Ghost of You_. I swear it comes into play and it a big part of Bucky's recovery! This fic went in a totally different direction that I initially started, and is a bit different in how I usually present recovery!Bucky, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! [thebestpersonherelovesbucky](thebestpersonherelovesbucky.tumblr.com). A place for Stucky, Marvel, the celebrities of MCU and I don't even know anymore.

This is not how Steve imagined it.

He knew there was going to be no miracle. No hugs and tears of joy when they found him. No matter how much he wished for it. Hoped for it. He expected some sort of struggle. A fight, yes. Not this. 

Not a cell with thick, reinforced bullet proof glass. Sedatives and restraints. The only way to keep him from hurting himself and others. Not the all out war and hatred he faces every time he comes.

The Winter Soldier doesn’t know him. Can’t remember being kids in Brooklyn. Back alley fights and school yard scraps. Doesn’t remember their shabby apartment or working the docks. Being there with Steve through coughs and colds, asthma attacks, pneumonia. Doesn’t remember the war. Or the Commandos. Or Peggy. The Winter Soldier doesn’t know Steve. The Winter Soldier doesn’t know Bucky Barnes. 

Only…

The Winter Soldier recognizes the man from the river. The man from the Smithsonian. Captain America. And something else. It wars within him. That desire to complete his last mission, kill his target, and the need to keep Steve safe. 

It infuriates him. Those missing pieces of his broken mind, scattered to places uncharted inside. Sets him off in a fit of internal rage. A fire lit within, heating his eyes in vicious flames. Those eyes aren’t Bucky’s.

Steve knows he should stop going to see him. At least until this part is over. Because it will be over. It’ll pass. It has to. Everytime he tells himself he’ll stop, he ends up in the same place. Outside the Winter Soldier’s cell. 

Wishing. Hoping. 

The files tell Steve some of what’s been done to him. Experiments. Drugs; mind altering. Brainwashing. Volts of electricity pumped through his brain time and time again. Ridding the body of Bucky Barnes. Replacing it with a highly effective killing machine. A soldier who doesn’t question. They say you don’t know the Winter Soldier is there for you until it’s too late. And it’s always too late. No mercy in the dead eyes that you might be unlucky enough to look upon.

Only…

Not completely. He’s in there; somewhere. Bucky. Steve knows he is. Under layers of pain and anguish lies the man who always made his dates drag a friend for _his_ skinny, little friend. Told her he was everything he wasn’t. The man who saw Steve before anyone else. That man jumped into the river and pulled him out. Not the Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes.

***

It’s bad today. The worst of these two weeks. He’s heavily sedated. Asleep and strapped to the bed after trying to attack the doctor sent in to check his vitals. Hurt two armed guards sent in with the doctor in the process. The guards will recover after some physical therapy. If not for the sedatives in his food, he’d have escaped. 

Escaped. Steve sighs. Hates thinking of it that way. He’s a patient. Not a prisoner. Yet a prisoner all the same. 

“Maybe it was too soon.” Steve says to Sam. “Maybe I should have just let him come to us.”

Sam shakes his head. “Couldn’t be helped, Steve. You know that. Hydra was after him. So was the CIA. Probably other governments. Stark’s intel said they were closing in.”

He’s right. Steve knows it. Between Tony and Fury, Steve knew he and Sam weren’t the only ones searching for him. It’s best that they got him before anyone else could, but this pain in his gut, the heart wrenching, breathless feeling is overwhelming. Sometimes he wishes he’d fallen from the train instead. 

When he sees the Winter Soldier like this, sleeping (passed out), Steve’s reminded, yet again, that his friend is still in there somewhere. There’s something so peaceful about him in that dreamless sleep. Eyes closed softly, no anger hidden in the scowl of his mouth. His only chance to escape the hell he’s trapped in.

Steve stays the whole time he’s out. He can’t find it in him to back away from the glass. To leave with the Winter Soldier still unconscious and sedated. The man underneath never left his side when he was sick. Steve’s not about to abandon him now. He sneaks into the cell with him. It’s the only time the Winter Soldier will let him near without putting up a fight. He sits down at the edge of the bed. Puts his hand on the Winter Soldier’s.

“I miss you.” He whispers. Maybe sleeping ears will pass the message along to the man inside. “I’m sorry, Bucky. I didn’t jump after you. I didn’t… I didn’t know. The war was… and the Red Skull and… I didn’t know, Bucky. I’m sorry. I’m so,” Steve’s voice cracks. It’s small and broken. He sweeps the hair away from the Winter Soldier’s forehead. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

Steve waits all night.

Wishing. Hoping. 

It’s well into the early morning, swirls of pinks and golds stretching across the ready sky, when there’s any sign of him coming to. A small moan under a mass of drugged induced silence. A scrunch of his face. A pull at his hands. They don’t move more than a few inches. Still strapped down to the bed. The Winter Soldier opens his eyes. Blinks a few times. Likely trying to process. To take in the surroundings. 

What does he make of them? What is he expecting? Is this reminiscent of him waking from cryo-freeze? That icy tomb Hydra kept him in. Storage. Their weapon put back on the shelf, safe from himself and who he really is, until he’s of further use. God, Steve hopes not. Steve hopes it’s _nothing_ like that. 

He tests his restraints. Pulls hard. Even harder. It doesn’t work of course. Tony’s design. Tested on Steve himself. Probably doesn’t help that he’s still disoriented and groggy. He grunts a little. A pained sound. Distressed. He shakes his head a little before rolling it towards the glass. His eyes catch Steve’s.

Steve can’t help it. He smiles at him. 

The Winter Soldier turns away.

***

Nat speaks to him in Russian. It seems to calm him in ways that Steve longs to do. He’ll sit down. Stop pacing. He just listens. There’s no talking. The Winter Soldier doesn’t talk. Just listens. He seems almost entranced by the Russian. In the tongue shared only by them. And Nat herself. A glimmer of recognition. 

“Did you know him?” Steve doesn’t know if he wants the answer. Doesn’t know if he can forgive her if it’s true and she didn’t tell him. 

The Black Widow and the Winter Soldier. The Red Room. 

“I don’t know, Steve.” She answers. Her eyes don’t break away from the glass. “There are blank spaces. Spaces filled in with things that aren’t mine. The KGB, they…”

“You don’t need to tell me those things. I just… need to know.”

“It doesn’t make sense. But it…” She laughs, humorless, dark, at the world. “It feels right sometimes. He does. Like someone from a dream.”

No wonder it’s easier for her to lie. So many truths erased and filled in with those lies and half truths. So much pain.

He lets her come into his cell. Sit down on the bed with him. She’ll spend hours in there. Knows when to talk, when not to. He’s never once tries to hurt her. He watches her. Carefully. Waiting for something that never happens.

Steve is jealous. 

Bucky Barnes doesn’t know who Steve Rogers is. 

The Winter Soldier likes to be with the Black Widow.

***

Hatred and anger switch to nothingness. Out of the blue just after a few weeks. One day a switch is flicked and the turmoil, the fight in him, it is gone. Dried up to leave them with an empty shell. 

The Winter Soldier sits and stares. Seeing things Steve can’t possibly imagine. Or maybe not seeing anything at all. 

He eats because he’s told to eat. Because Nat will feed him. Comb her fingers through his silky hair and he lets her and Steve is still jealous. Nat kisses him. His lips pucker and he kisses back. There’re times Steve thinks her kisses will breathe life into him again. Bring him back. Wake him up like his princess kissing her prince trapped under an evil spell. Steve’s jealous but he’ll take it if it works. 

It never does.

He sleeps because he falls asleep. Wherever in the cell he happens to slump over. Wakes and just stares some more. 

Therapists come to see him. Compliments of Nick Fury. They talk to him and try to get him to speak. To open up. After only a few tries, Steve can see what they can. They’re not speaking to anyone.

“Is this better?” Steve wonders. “Or worse?”

“There’s no answer to that.” Bruce tells him. “We don’t know the full extent of what’s been done to him.”

Bruce might not be the right type of doctor for this, but he’s sat down with Steve and gone over and over the files on what they do have. What they do know. And none of it is good.

Doctors can go in and do what they need with little fear. There’re still guards to accompany them. A precaution. The Winter Soldier lets them do what they need to do. 

He says nothing. Does nothing. 

Is nothing.

***

Steve can’t sleep. That’s not unusual. It’s particularly bad tonight. When dreams turn to nightmarish fog, gripping around his mind and has him screaming out into the restless night. Bucky’s name. A fall from the train. The scream that’s haunted him since it raced from Bucky’s lungs. He should have jumped. He couldn’t have. He would have. 

He goes to see him. Maybe that will calm him. Wishful thinking. It only ever causes more pain. The Tower is still and silent as he makes his way down to the underground cell. The world paused around him while he goes on and on. 

The Winter Soldier is awake. Sitting on the floor against the bed. He doesn’t see Steve when he steps in front of the glass. 

For a moment, Steve just takes him in. That man in there, a body housing his best friend, he’s in pain. So much pain and Steve can’t do anything for him. 

Only…

There’re tears tonight. Tears that roll silently down the Winter Soldier’s cheeks. Steve can’t do nothing. He will not stand out there, with glass between them, and just watch as the man he loves cries. 

He steps into the cell, slow and cautious. He’s not been in there since they first brought the Winter Soldier in and it was clear he didn’t want, couldn’t have, Steve near. The Winter Soldier doesn’t move. Not even when Steve sits down next to him. 

Neither of them do anything. Steve just wants to be near him. A whisper of comfort along his hurting soul. They sit for a long while. So long that Steve is startled when there’s a sound he doesn’t recognize. 

“Was I yours?”

The Winter Soldier asks his question hard. It’s low, yes, but that’s not his voice. Rough. Like the scrape of stone against his throat. Steve doesn’t understand.

“What?”

“Did they steal me from you?”

His heart sinks. Only after it splinters, breaks off piece by piece at the assumptions being made. The Winter Soldier doesn’t know he was ever more than just a thing to be used. 

“No.”

There’s a flicker of emotion. Even if he’s still staring straight ahead, Steve can see it. Almost a look of disappointment. An animal wounded at the thought of never having belonged to Steve. Frustration set in a line across his lips and he actually lifts his gaze. He looks at Steve, seeing him, seeing something, for the first time in weeks. And it’s Steve.

“Then were you _mine_?”

_Yes. I was always yours. I was yours. I was Peggy’s. And I was yours. Always and never._

“Not like that.” Steve whispers. “Not like… I was…” The words fall from his lips. An autumn leaf unable to keep its feeble grip on the branch. “I was yours, Bucky.” 

Tears still fall. Slow and silent and the Winter Soldier leans in and kisses him. It’s wet and sloppy, but he’s kissing him. Steve doesn’t know if it’s right to let him or to kiss him back. Because Steve’s kissing him back. Kissing Bucky only in body the way they used to before the war. Once stolen when Captain America brought him back from death’s hold. 

But Steve can’t stop. He doesn’t have enough strength. He’s too selfish. The Winter Soldier feels like Bucky. Tastes like Bucky. And Steve just wants Bucky back. 

The Winter Soldier growls against his mouth and shoves Steve down to the floor. He’s kissing him all over. Rough, rushed, hasty. Just to get his taste while he can. Sucking hard enough onto Steve’s skin that it makes Steve whimper and shudder underneath him. He bites down on Steve’s shoulder and Steve lets out a cry. The Winter Soldier is panting and restless. Rips all of Steve’s clothes off before his own pants. He locks Steve’s wrists in his hands, pins them above his head and shoves himself inside Steve’s body. It hurts. Steve cries. He can try to fight him off if he wanted. 

Only…

Steve’ll be okay. He knows that. It hurts and it burns and yet he can’t ask him to stop. Doesn’t know if he would, but Steve doesn’t want him to either. This isn’t Bucky. But it’s the closest thing Steve can get. This violent, rhythmic pounding. No emotion and every emotion imaginable.

There’s a grunt and a tighter squeeze around Steve’s wrists when he finishes. Nothing more than that. He moves out, catches his breath and pulls his pants back on. 

Steve is shaking. He reaches out for him. So badly craves Bucky’s touch. The familiar feel of his skin under his hand. The Winter Soldier tenses. He doesn’t quite back away to refuse the contact, but Steve pulls back just the same. He wipes his face clean, dresses and leaves.

“Jarvis?” He speaks quietly when in the elevator.

“Yes, Captain Rogers?”

Steve clears his throat. “The video footage from the cell block? Can you…”

“It’s already been deleted, Captain.”

He jerks off in the shower. Did he take advantage of Bucky in his state? He doesn’t know. Can’t be sure. Nothing makes sense anymore. 

Steve prays to God. Asks for forgiveness.

And goes back the next night.

***

Three weeks of the same. 

Steve sneaks down every night and every night lets the Winter Soldier take him the same way that first time. Deep, rough, painful. Like an animal staking his claim. It’s sick and twisted and Steve has no idea why he keeps letting it happen. 

Only…

Maybe he does. By the second week, when Steve comes in, the Winter Soldier looks up at him expectantly. As though he’s been waiting for him. One night, when Steve takes longer to come down, after pacing and arguing with himself if he should go or not, the Winter Soldier glares at him. He’s rougher that night. Punishing Steve for being late. 

The Winter Soldier _wants_ Steve to come to him. Steve has no idea why. But it gives something to him. To both of them. 

Tonight, Steve’s eyes are closed and the Winter Soldier pounds inside of him. Steve doesn’t know if it’s shame he feels or regret or something entirely different. It’s just… the feel of those hands around his wrists, holding him down like he never wants him to get away, it’s the most hope he gets. Tangible. Wrapped around him physically. 

When the Winter Soldier suddenly stops, Steve’s eyes pop open. He hasn’t finished and he’s never stopped before he finishes. The Winter Soldier is staring down at him. Eyes red like he’s been crying.

“Why do you keep letting me do this?” He asks. 

“It’s…” Steve sounds so far away. “It’s the only way I can feel close to you. And I miss you.”

He looks confused. Still doesn’t move. Not until the tight grip around Steve’s wrist slowly loosens. The Winter Soldier adjusts his hold so that his left hand captures both Steve’s wrists. His right hand lowers so that he can brush his thumb across Steve’s cheek. He’s wiping tears away. Tears Steve didn’t even know were there. 

The Winter Soldier leans in and kisses him. Like he did that first time. 

Only…

Nothing like that first time. It’s soft and gentle. Lips pressed against Steve’s with tenderness and precious care. He starts to move again with his mouth still on his. Slower. He takes his time and holds Steve close. The hand holding him down lets go. Instead of keeping it wrapped around his wrists, he laces fingers with Steve’s. Holds his hand tight in his. Steve swathes his arm around the Winter Soldier’s body. Holds him tight.

The Winter Soldier’s right hand drifts between their bodies where he takes hold of Steve. He strokes in between thrusts. Sweet and right. As though he can read Steve perfectly. Knows just how to move and touch him.

“Look at me.” He says.

Steve does. His eyes, which were only closed because of the sudden and unexpected gentle pleasure, open. The Winter Soldier is staring down at him. Right into him. Reading Steve’s soul. Steve starts to tremble as his body melts more and more at his touch. His eyes droop again. Lips quivering and heart pounding.

“ _Look at me_.” The Winter Soldier growls.

His eyes pop open again. Just in time for he comes undone around that hand with a shout of Bucky’s name spilling off his tongue. It’s smothered with another kiss as the Winter Soldier actually changes positions and pulls Steve up into his arms as he continues moving in and out of him. Steve’s head ends up on his shoulder and the Winter Soldier finishes with a moan instead of a grunt. 

He doesn’t let go. Doesn’t move away. The Winter Soldier holds him in his arms; Steve on his lap, legs locked around his hips. 

“You were little.” He murmurs. “And then you weren’t.”

Steve lifts his head away from the spot it’s cradled comfortably on his shoulder. He looks at him again. 

Wishing. Hoping.

“You… you remember?”

“That.” He answers. The Winter Soldier combs fingers through Steve’s hair. “I feel you. Somewhere.” His mouth sets in a frustrated line. “I don’t know.” 

The tears come on hard, crumpling the Winter Soldier’s face with pain and sorrow. He falls against Steve and just cries. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.” Steve assures him. Runs hands gently along his cheeks. “It’s okay. Bucky, it’s okay.”

“Captain Rogers, I wanna go home. But I don’t know where that is.” He weeps and takes a jagged breath. “Can I go home with you?”

Steve should talk this over with his teammates. It’s technically Tony’s place, even if they all live here. Steve’s beyond the point of caring and just tells him to get dressed before taking the Winter Soldier by the hand and leading him out into the world.

***

The team is a mix of responses in the morning. There’s anger and doubt and uncertainty and fear. Steve takes it all in stride. 

“You’re supposed to be the responsible one.” Tony grumbles. 

“I trust him.” Steve insists over and over.

“You trust him? The man that tried to kill you? More than once? Who freaked out anytime you tried to go in there with him?”

“It’s different now. Give him a chance.”

Tony holds his palms up in defeat. “Whatever you say, Cap. If he kills you don’t haunt the place, kay?”

***

“Don’t let me hurt your friends.” He whispers as they walk through the halls. “Please.” 

It’s the first time in a week Steve’s convinced him to leave the room with him. Down to breakfast. 

“I won’t. It’ll be okay.”

He sleeps in the same bed as Steve. Some nights pressed against him. Others as far away as the mattress will allow. He’s tried to have sex with him. Steve says no. He won’t succumb to the desires inside of him again and risk hurting the chances of Bucky’s recovery any more. It was wrong. The Winter Soldier listens. 

Steve is wrong.

It’s not okay.

Just seconds after walking into the kitchen it’s too much for the Winter Soldier. His eyes scan the room immediately. Finds the threats. Thor is too big and loud. Tony has a fork. Clint’s holding a butcher’s knife by the counter.

His eyes are dead. Robotic in sight, sound, movement; and Clint’s wrist is broken. Steve pins the Winter Soldier to the wall. Pleads with Bucky to stop. 

Only…

It’s not Bucky struggling against him. Assessing all the incoming threats. The Avengers up and ready despite Steve’s greatest efforts at telling them to stay down. This is the Winter Soldier. And the Winter Soldier… is a soldier. Who does what he’s told.

“Stand _down_ , Soldier!” Steve demands. Command heavy in his voice. “That’s an _order_!”

The Winter Soldier’s struggling comes to a stop. Immediate and instant. His entire body is rigid and tense. He inhales sharply and on the exhale his programming shifts. Tension melts away with the blackness of his eyes. They find Steve and the sudden realization of what’s happened hits him. Fingers grip his hair and his face scrunches in anger and pain. 

“Put me back.” He whimpers. “Put me away again.”

“No.” Steve denies. He won’t keep this man a prisoner anymore. “But you’re going to go to every doctor I send you to. To help you get better.” _Oh please say yes_. “Do I make myself clear, Soldier?”

He nods and tells Steve he’s tired.

***

Doctor says Clint’s wrist’ll be better in a few weeks. Clint uses having only one good hand to his advantage as much as he can. 

Steve apologizes over and over, no matter how often he’s assured that it’s fine. He stops when Clint tells him Bucky’ll make it up to him.

“What’d you mean?”

“When he’s better.” He takes a bite of his sandwich. Big. Full mouthed. “I’ll make him buy me a round or something. Besides, now I’m in the I-got-attacked-by-the-Winter-Soldier-and-Lived-Club. You and Sam and Tasha and Fury ain’t so special anymore.”

There’s a laugh at that somewhere inside of Steve. Hidden beneath too many other darker emotions at the moment. One bright one.

“Do you… really think he’s going to get better?”

Of all his friends, Clint’s the first one to actually voice such an opinion. The others might think it sometimes. Nat certainly hopes for it, but, true to the Black Widow, never lets such a feeling drown her. Steve believes Sam is on the fence, bouncing back between believing and not believing it can happen--hoping hard for Steve. Thor is always enthusiastic and tells Steve that magic and science are one. They can do many things. For all of Tony’s _hey, anything’s possibles_ , Steve doubts he thinks this one really is. Bruce, Steve thinks, wants to believe it _is_ possible. 

But here’s Clint. Saying he thinks it’s going to happen.

“Why not?” He shrugs. “I did.”

It’s different. What happened to Clint and what happened to Bucky. But Clint’s right. He got better. So can Bucky.

***

Steve’s used to his second shadow. Bucky, or the Winter Soldier--both--follow him everywhere. He doesn’t like to be alone. Afraid; doesn’t trust himself, he says, without Steve there to catch him if he falls. Steve’s stomach always twists. He couldn’t catch him the last time he fell. 

Those rare times Steve needs to leave the Tower--because he’s still Captain America and an Avenger and sometimes, though they try to compensate, they need him--Bucky/the Winter Soldier, begs to be locked up again. Steve obliges if only it makes him feel safer without him there.

He’s had brain scans to make sure everything is working properly. Steve stayed with him the entire time. Held his hand the way Bucky did when Steve used to get sick. The results were mostly normal. Higher brain activity. Closer to Steve’s. No brain damage. No permanent brain damage. It can be repaired, they say, thanks to the serum in his blood. Healed with time. 

There are therapy sessions. Several times a day. They tell Steve good things. For the most part. He’s trying. Wants to get better. 

Only…

Recovery is a process. It is not a straight line. There are setbacks. Failures. And for every good day, there are more bad.

Some nights Steve wakes to a hand around his throat. Dead eyes staring into his as he prepares for a kill. Clearing and waking only when Steve’s flung him off, having sometimes to harm him in a fight. 

He’ll wake to Bucky/the Winter Soldier thrashing and screaming in bed next to him. Steve struggles to pull him out of the nightmarish hell his mind’s sent him to and when he does, Bucky/the Winter Soldier rarely talks about it. He’ll curl into a ball or pace about the room until his body can’t take it anymore and he passes out again.

There are days he sleeps away and nights he stares out at nothing. Times he cries for hours. He’ll let Steve hold him. He pushes Steve away. The latter is so much worse. 

English fails him in panic attacks. When he can’t figure out where he is or who he is and all he knows is Steve is a familiar face who he can’t communicate with. Nat hushes him in Russian. Soothes him back down and usually, most of the times, she’ll cradle him in her lap and she’ll run her fingers through his hair. Strands slipping through like fresh, clean water, until he falls asleep. 

Today is a bad day. With screaming and fits of anger and downpours of tears. Mood swings that teeter on the edge of a cliff. 

“You told me you’d help me!” He shouts. There’s a hole in the wall where his left fist has gone through. “I want to remember!”

“You will, Bucky!” Steve tries to calm him. “I promise!”

Wishing. Hoping.

“Fuck you, Captain Rogers,” He growls. Then tears spill over the brim of his eyes and he whimpers softly, “I want to remember you. Why can’t I remember you?”

It’s then that Steve knows it’s safe to approach. To put his arms around him and hold him and whisper words of comfort that he may or may not believe.

Bucky/the Winter Soldier _does_ remember things. They’re just not the things he’s hoping for. Not the kinds of memories one wants to have. Violence. Blood. Pain. Hurt. Too recent. He wants to go farther back. To the boy in the picture at the Smithsonian. Captain Rogers’ “sidekick” (even if Steve always saw himself as Bucky’s sidekick). His schoolyard buddy. So much more than that. And doesn’t know how. 

Steve reminds him, reminds _himself_ , it’s been just over four months. And…

“You eat with us now. Remember, Bucky? You eat with us.”

He does. It’s not perfect. He doesn’t talk. Might not even listen in. He sometimes tenses when someone lifts a knife or a fork. A soft, careful hand on his shoulder or a whispered Russian endearment is all it takes to remind him he’s in a safe place. 

Steve holds him until he’s calm.

Bucky/the Winter Soldier likes routine and pattern. But he’s learning how to decide for himself. Steve makes him choose. What to wear, what to eat (he does _make_ him eat, though), if he wants to cut his hair, pull it back. He lets Steve cut it. Only Steve. 

He doesn’t talk much. If he’s prodded, he will. Steve can get him to tell him the bits and pieces he does remember. It’s scattered, pieces of a whole picture that have been swept away by ungodly winds. A woman with dark brown hair, curly. A rollercoaster. Dancing. That Steve was little. And then wasn’t. Stars and stripes. Till the end of the line, which he doesn’t understand. 

Despite the silence he prefers, Bucky/the Winter Soldier likes to keep the television on. He doesn’t usually watch it. It’s just on. White noise so other noises don’t startle him. 

“He has the mighty heart and soul of a warrior.” Thor tells him. On a day Steve’s wishing and hoping is in short supply. “It’s bent, wounded, not broken, Steven. Mendable.”

“Bucky always put me back together again.” Steve whispers. Bucky’s asleep on the couch. The television still on. Always. “I… why I can’t I do that for him?”

“I did not know your Bucky Barnes before this man. But this man here is not the same as the injured one you dragged back from your travels. The pieces of a man’s soul is many. Have patience, Steven.” He slaps him hard on the back. Hopeful. Doesn’t need to wish. “The pieces will come.”

And in that, Thor’s right.

***

The day is quiet. What would be a lazy Sunday if not for the anxious worrying that Bucky/the Winter Soldier might have a setback. A bad day. It’s not. So far. Not a good day, but neither is it bad. Steve’ll take that over bad. 

The last days of fall melt away outside. Chilly breezes and earthy colors. They’re just sitting in the living room of Steve’s suite. On opposite ends of the couch. Bucky looks at the television. Maybe watching. Maybe not. Steve’s trying to sketch. He can’t concentrate and puts his book down with a sigh.

“Bucky?”

He _lets_ Steve call him that. Insists that’s _not_ who he is. But when Steve asks what he _wants_ him to call him, Bucky/the Winter Soldier just looks lost. Tells him if calling him Bucky makes him happy then Steve should just go on doing it. 

Bucky/the Winter Soldier looks over. He doesn’t answer beyond that. 

“Um…” Steve’s not even sure why he’s called his attention. He glances out the window. An idea. “It’s gonna get cold soon. Do you wanna go for a walk? While it’s still nice?”

It’s always nice when he can get Bucky/the Winter Soldier to get out of the Tower. He always leaves it up to him of course. He’ll never make him do something he doesn’t want to.

Today, Bucky/the Winter Soldier nods. 

Steve helps him into a light jacket. Demin. His left hand goes into the pocket. Steve’s told him it’s okay, but any time they do go out, he hides it.

They’re quiet as they walk down the paths of Central Park. The sun is shining brightly, pouring sweet rays of light upon them. Leaves dot the ground. Curled up and crunchy. The first one Steve steps on makes him smile. Just like when he was a kid. When he and Bucky walked to and from school. Competing for who got the next one. Bucky used to let him win. Sometimes. 

Steve purposely avoids some. They go untouched. Steve steps on a few more and smiles over at Bucky/the Winter Soldier. He gets no response. Keeps doing it though. Stepping, _stomping_ sometimes, on the leaves. Hearing them crunch happily beneath his feet and chuckling when they do. 

When he first hears the crunch come from next to him, he tries not to look. Gives Bucky/the Winter Soldier the privacy of trying it on his own. He does it again. With the toe of his boot. Bucky/the Winter Soldier looks over at him for approval. Steve smiles. There’s a pull on his lips, but they don’t lift. As they go on, stepping on leaves, one at a time, a hand touches Steve’s wrist. Hesitant and gentle. Startled at first, Steve looks down at it and then peers over at Bucky/the Winter Soldier, who’s still watching the leaves he’s stepping on, as his hand moves slowly down to Steve’s. Steve opens his. Welcomes the one seeking to be held in his own and they cup together. 

Steve is smiling when he looks over at him. He doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t look empty. Not miserable. Bucky/the Winter Soldier leans over and tries to kiss him. Steve dodges it. That hurts, having to move away. It must hurt him, too since he scowls and tries again. More aggressively.

“Bucky, _no_.” 

He has his free hand on Bucky/the Winter Soldier’s neck to keep him away. Firm and adamant in his refusal to let this happen when he’s still acting only on instinct and not real emotion. As painful as it is. Steve can’t let that happen again. 

Only…

There _is_ emotion this time. Not the right kind. Just based on deep seated desires and longing for things that don’t exist. Yet. 

But there’s something there. Because when Steve’s words, his refusal to let Bucky/the Winter Soldier kiss him, really sink in, rejection must hit him. He glowers at him.

“Will you ever let me kiss you again?” He huffs. “I _like_ kissing you.”

“I… Buck, not now. Yes, but I can’t…”

He looks away before Steve finishes, dejected. Says something softly. A breeze of a whisper that Steve understands as a request to go back. They do. Hands still cupped together. 

They’re on the couch again when they get home. Steve’s trying to sketch again. It’s all he can think to do. Things are uncomfortable. He knows why and he’s not sure how to fix that. But when he hears the little hitch in Bucky/the Winter Soldier’s breathing, he knows he has to do something. 

“Shit, Bucky, I’m sorry. I…”

He’s not listening to him. Yes, he _is_ crying, but it’s not because of what happened. Or maybe it is. Not entirely though. It’s what’s on the television. Bucky/the Winter Soldier is actually paying attention this time. He looks haunted by the images. Eyes wide, furrow deep between his eyebrows. Mouth hung slightly open, lip quivering. Steve only needs a glance.

It’s a music video. The content having heavy portrayals of what’s supposed to be World War II. Battles. Losses. Death. And it’s hitting him hard.

Steve reaches for the remote.

“Bucky, here, I’ll turn it…”

The hand around his wrist is tight and shaky. He’s still watching the television, but Steve has his attention, too.

“No, don’t turn it off. Please. Steve.”

Steve freezes. That’s… the first time he’s used his name. So he leaves it on. There’s not much left to it. Turns out it’s called _The Ghost of You_ by the band My Chemical Romance. By the end of the video, Bucky/the Winter Soldier is shaking his head. He turns to Steve, pointing to the screen.

“I used to wear that.” He says. “So… so did you.”

He must be talking about the Green Army Service Uniforms. Steve never wore any combat uniform with him. He had his Captain America suit-- _you’re keeping the outfit, right?_ Bucky had teased, and Steve didn’t care because he had Bucky by his side and Bucky was safe and he could tease him all he wanted. He could do it right now and Steve would leap for joy. 

“Yes.” Steve answers. “We did.”

“And we were… _there_. Together.”

Steve can feel his heart swelling. He doesn’t want to get to excited. Knows better than that. But this is the first time something like this has happened.

“That’s right.”

“There were others…” He rattles his head. Touches the bottom of his palm to his forehead. “Men. And…” Bucky/the Winter Soldier whips his gaze at Steve. He looks wounded. Heartbroken. “You said you were mine.”

“What?”

“There was a woman.” He whispers. “You were hers.”

Peggy. Oh God. How does he explain this? He’s not stupid. He understands things. It’s just… this is different. There are feelings inside of him that aren’t making sense. Things that Steve can’t put into words for him.

“Bucky, it’s… complicated.”

“Show me.” He demands. “You carried a picture.”

Steve reaches into his pocket to pull the compass out. The picture that Bucky/the Winter Soldier remembers still tucked in there. 

His index finger touches it. Gently. As if trying to physically reach out and pluck the memory from the picture itself. 

“Peggy.” He whispers. “You loved her. She… told me… you jumped on a grenade. I was proud of you.”

That… no, that’s wrong. 

“No, you were mad at me. You yelled at me.”

“Yeah.” He agrees to that, with a glare and then a roll of his eyes, but says, “Cause you could have died, punk.” Something warm and wonderful shoots through Steve’s body. “But I was proud of you, too. I hoped that I would have been brave enough to do the same.”

That’s something Steve never knew. He doesn’t know if it’s true. It’s not like Bucky never lied to him before. Don’t worry, we have enough rent. _Come on, the Cyclone’ll be fun! There’s gotta be a hundred dames all waiting just for you._ But Bucky/the Winter Soldier? Why would he lie? 

“You remember that?”

“I… I do.” His eyes go wide, struck with the wonder at such a realization. “Steve… I remember what it was like being Bucky.” He snatches up the remote to rewind back to the video. “I wanna watch it again.”

***

The video plays constantly. It’s the only thing on the television compliments of Jarvis. Steve doesn’t mind. The music soothes Bucky. He knows all the words and mutters them softly as he watches. More and more memories return to him. Sometimes gradual and steady--a soft sunrise over the horizon. Other times hitting him like a thunderclap. Loud and harsh. 

Steve will sit and talk with him. Verify which memories are real and which are just concocted by some warped version in his mind. He continues talking to therapists--they all come up to see him--but it’s the song that makes him the most content. Even when it makes him tear up, as it sometimes does. 

Not all the memories are good ones. When they’re not, he asks Steve to sit close to him. 

After a few days, though, Steve gets worried. Bucky won’t leave the suite. The thought seems to frighten him. He doesn’t come out and say it, but Steve thinks he’s worried that it will all disappear. Without the song, everything he’s remembered, the bit of progress he’s made, it might go away. 

“Bucky, come on. You can’t stay cooped up in here.”

He shakes his head. Arms pinned against his chest as he refuses, vehemently, to leave the suite. 

Tony shows up later in the day with a package. He barely acknowledges Steve when he comes in and goes straight to Bucky.

“Hey, how’s it going, Iron Giant?” He greets as he sits on the coffee table in front of him.

Bucky eyes him warily. Detects no threat and goes back to watching the video. Tony shrugs and laughs.

“Kay, well,” Tony opens the box he has and pulls out an Stark-Pad. “You know what this is?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. Yes, he knows what it is. He’s used Steve’s before when he didn’t know Steve noticed. Bucky stares at him. More of a glare really.

Tony stretches his lips in some sort of apology. 

“Yeah, uh, well, here,” He hands it over to Bucky. “This one’s for you. This way you and Cap can exit the retirement floor and you can still have your song and video or whatever.”

Turning it over in his hands, Bucky slides his finger over the screen. It comes to life and shines light across his face. 

“It’s…” His voice is lower than a whisper, and Steve thinks this might be the first time he’s speaking to any of the Avengers other than he or Nat, “for me? It’s mine?”

“That’s right. Enjoy.”

Tony gets up to leave without another word. Pats Steve on the shoulder as he passes by. Steve means to give a thanks, but, well, he’s too busy watching Bucky as he fiddles with the Stark-Pad. And mouths the word _mine_.

Something happens then. To Bucky. Something Steve had forgotten even existed. A piece of Bucky that he hasn’t seen in so long he wasn’t even sure he’d ever see again. 

Bucky’s lips, his mouth, his eyes, they all shine with the brightness of a ghost of a smile. Steve is acutely aware that this is the first time he’s smiled in God knows how long. Real. Whole. That right there is Bucky’s smile. 

“Tony!”

He’s by the elevator. The doors have just opened but he doesn’t get in. Waits for Steve, hustling down the hall, to get to him instead.

“What’s up, big guy?”

“He… you… back…” Steve is shaking. “He smiled.”

“What?”

“You made him… Tony, you made him smile.”

Steve’s voice falls and breaks on the last word. The tears are unexpected, but they hit him fast and hard and Tony is hugging him. He doesn’t even know _why_ he’s crying. 

All his wishing. Hoping.

For Bucky’s smile.

***

Bucky reads. Anything he can get his hands on. He always did love to read. Steve has taken him to the public library, after a bit of coaxing and the promise that he could take his Stark-Pad and use the headphones with it. They’ll spend all day there. Steve tries to find books for himself. But, he’s much more interested in watching Bucky absorb the words and worlds on the pages in front of him. 

Bucky watches movies. He sits with either Steve or Nat (Steve isn’t jealous anymore) when the Avengers have their movie nights. The Stark-Pad sits on his lap just in case he needs it. Some nights he does. Others he doesn’t. The first time he’s asked to choose a movie, he picks _Snow White_. His eyes shine when they title screen comes on and he looks at Steve. Smiling. Because Bucky smiles now. Soft, always unsure and guarded, but he smiles. Steve can see the reasons behind that one. He remembers it.

Bucky cooks. Just for Steve. Not well, but he tries. Follows the recipes he finds online to the very last word and waits anxiously to try it with him. His Stark-Pad softly plays his song the whole time. Steve tells him he loves it no matter what he really thinks of it. Even the time Bucky spit it out himself. Steve feels a little bad for lying, but it’s not like he’s never lied to him before. _It’s nothing, Buck, just a little cough. Don’t worry about me, you go out dancing. Yeah I know there’s a dame out there for me._

Things are moving along well. They are. Bucky smiles now. Really. It’s hesitant and disappears quickly, but those are his smiles. Steve reminds himself of that. Everyday.

Only…

Bad days still outnumber the good ones. 

Bucky is still too tired to get up some days and he’ll sleep it away if Steve’ll let him. Steve usually finds excuses to keep him up after breakfast, but Bucky goes along begrudgingly.

Bucky still screams in his sleep. Thrashes about as inexplicable horrors wash through his mind and won’t release him until he wakes--on his own or by force. 

Bucky still cries out of no where. Lashes out when Steve least expects it. Still needs to find Nat when all that’ll come out is Russian.

And Steve hates this. Wants the pain and suffering to just _end_ already. Be satisfied with the seventy years of torment and a stolen life. 

Every time Bucky struggles with the war going on inside of him, a name at the tip of his tongue, a word to put to his feelings, a memory trying to break through, Steve hurts more and more. 

***

Grab him. His hand is right there. Reach, Steve, reach. You can do it this time. Don’t let go, Bucky. Don’t fall. Don’t let him fall. Don’t let him fall. Please, God, please, don’t…

“Bucky, no!”

Something is shaking him. It’s not the train Steve clings to as Bucky’s last scream fills the air. Something is shaking him.

His eyes open and Steve feels the tears there. The scream, Bucky’s scream, the one that’s haunted him everyday since he’s heard it, still echoes clearly in his mind. Heart. Soul.

“Steve?”

Bucky’s voice. From above. Not a scream. He fell. He survived. The Winter Soldier. He’s here. With Steve. In his bed and waking him.

“Bucky…” Steve breathes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He looks at him with confusion in his eyes. Bucky reaches out and sweeps the hair away from Steve’s face. 

“You have bad dreams?” Bucky closes his eyes. “Still?”

He must remember. Steve crawling into bed with him when they were little. Steve crawling into bed with him when they were grown. Steve crawling into bed with him during the war. 

“I’m okay.” He nods. “Really. You can go back to sleep.”

Bucky curls his lips up. Eyebrows pulled in, it looks like he might argue. He doesn’t though. He slips back down into the pillows and sighs. 

Steve rolls over, cursing himself. He can’t burden Bucky. There’s too much for him already. The last thing the poor guy needs is to be going on worrying about Steve and his stupid nightmare. He doesn’t usually show them like that. Steve’s somehow managed to keep from lashing out in his sleep ever since…

There’s a tug on the back of his shirt. Hard and firm. Bucky’s hand gripped tightly in the fabric of it. He’s lifting him up and before Steve can even question what’s happening, he’s being dropped onto Bucky’s chest. 

“Buck…”

“There.” Bucky says as he puts his arms around him. “That’s where you go, right? After you have nightmares?” 

Steve tries to blink the tears away. It’s useless. They come anyway. One by one. Falling silently and dripping into Bucky’s shirt. Bucky holds him closer. Runs fingers through his hair. Soft and familiar. A moment later, Steve hears the humming.

Bucky’s song. He’s humming it to him. Sharing it softly in an attempt to comfort him. Steve lifts his head so that he can look at him. Bucky looks back. Seems a bit lost in expression, like he’s not sure whether or not he’s doing the right thing. The hand in Steve’s hair stop.

“Bucky, why do you love that song so much?”

“It… it’s like me. And you.”

“Us?”

Bucky nods. “Yes. I think. It says, _Ever get the feeling that you’re never all alone and I remember now_. You came and got me. I wasn’t alone. I was never alone. And…” He pauses and starts again, “ _At the end of the world, or the last thing I see, you are never coming home. And all the things that you never ever told me. And all the smile that are ever gonna haunt me_. We did come home, didn’t we, Steve? And I can… tell you that Bucky loved you. That… I love you?”

Steve cries harder and buries his face into Bucky’s chest. He’s trying to answer, but if he talks all that will come out are whimpers and broken up words.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” Bucky whispers. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You… y-you didn’t.” Steve chokes on a few breaths. “I just… I… I love you, Bucky. I love you, too.”

“Me?” He sounds so shocked at that. “You love me?” There’s caution around him. Fear now. “Me? Or the old Bucky?”

Steve adjusts himself so that he can look into Bucky’s eyes. He tries to clean his face, but it’s really no use. The tears just keep coming. Steve cups Bucky’s face.

“Both. You’re just Bucky to me. No matter what. You’ve always been Bucky to me.”

He whimpers slightly. Looks like he might cry, but holds it back in the face of Steve’s tears. Steve doesn’t want him to. 

“Steve? Can… can I kiss you now? Please?”

There’s no will strong enough that could ever make Steve able to resist the look on Bucky’s face. So open right now. Somehow the most vulnerable he’s ever seen him. 

“Yes.”

Bucky smiles and does. Quickly pressing his lips against Steve’s. Bucky moves softly. Sweet and tender and every bit of it tastes like a bit of heaven. Steve could die right here and be happy.

 

There’s still such a long road ahead. More tears and anger. Disappointments and setbacks. Failures and crashing to the ground. But the man here now, he’s not the Bucky in Steve’s memories. And he’s not the man who might have killed him in a struggle to get away six months ago. This is the man Steve wants to be with. To have stand by as he continues to get better.

Wounds have their scars. And there’re ghosts that will haunt them. But Steve has no more use for wishing and hoping.

He knows.

This wasn’t how Steve imagined it.

But he’ll take it.


End file.
